One mother's attempt to grab life by the short and curlies following divorce. The aim is to maximise optimism and minimise cynicism - whilst being aided and abetted by two amazing sons, some great friends and possibly a thimble or two of wine. Admittedly, these are rather lofty aims...

Friday, June 22, 2012

Fallen Madonna Wiz Zee Big Boobies...

I thought it was about time that I got my slovenly act together and posted an update. You may be forgiven for thinking that I have been far too distracted staring at my own cleavage for hours at a time to consider updating the blog (or housework, grocery shopping, doing laundry, feeding the cat, helping the boys with their homework)...that's not quite the case.

Well, it's not the case now.

3 months on and I almost have the infatuation with my new tits under control.

Almost. (Not quite enough to start addressing the back log of housework, gardening or ironing but I'm getting there.)

Yes, it's Big Boobies Bertha reporting back to base and the outcome is an overwhelming thumbs up. Actually, to be frank, it's a couple of pert nipples up. I am now the proud owner of two beautifully rounded, perky breasts which still take me a little by surprise every time I step out of the shower. And I know it is shallow and superficial and totally lacking in importance in the big scheme of things..but this has to be the best £4,000 I have ever spent.

The procedure itself was incredibly straightforward. I have had root canals which have taken longer, been more traumatic and resulted in more pain. I must admit, I was incredibly nervous while waiting for the surgeon, in my fetching hospital gown, big paper knickers and support hose. There was a very loud and insistent voice in my head repeating, "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? YOU. ARE. INSANE. It will serve you right if this all goes...well, tits up, wouldn't it? WALK AWAY! YOU STILL HAVE TIME TO CHANGE YOUR MIND AND...WALK AWAY!!"

I did feel a little distanced by it all - I didn't have doubts or second thoughts but I was almost in a state of total disbelief that I was going ahead with a voluntary, purely cosmetic, medical surgical procedure.

The surgeon duly arrived - nearly 45 minutes later than planned...plenty of time to hyperventilate slightly and start to scan the room for a paper bag to breath in to. He then drew a rather fetching treasure map in permanent marker all over my boobs, which felt more than a little embarrassing. I then walked across the corridor into the operating theatre and lay down on the table, while numerous medical staff busied themselves with sharp looking implements as they discussed various banal elements of their day. I started to feel more than a little light headed at this point - the whole exercise just seemed so ridiculous. The anaesthesiologist started talking to me about having a mid life crisis and asked if Power Plate could help him lose his love handles...and then in the blink of an eye I was waking up in a different room with a very pleasant nurse holding my hand and the feeling of a ten ton weight sitting on my chest.

The sense of relief was indescribable.

I got wheeled back to my room and 5 hours later walked out of hospital, slightly gingerly but desperate to be at home in my own bed to sleep.

The surgery was over and had been a success - now for the bit I had been really dreading. The recovery. That window of time when your body goes into shock and normal service is temporarily suspended, as it adjusts to the violent assault it has been subjected to without its formal consent. I was not looking forward to feeling my body scream at me, "what the hell did you go and do THAT for?"

However, the recovery from the surgery was surprisingly swift. I was absolutely knackered for at least a week afterwards. Sleeping was difficult, because I had to sleep resting on an abundance of pillows at a 45 degree angle. Not the most comfortable position when the aim is a good night's sleep. Getting from horizontal to vertical - and vice versa - took a little bit of patience and some hard core deep breaths. I think waking up in the morning was the worst - I would typically allow myself a little pity party cry as my swollen boobs vehemently protested any shift in position. It was as though they had been filled with a sack full of rocks during the night and upon waking were being hit with a hammer. It was the most painful engorgement I can remember since overdoing the fenugreek supplements when breastfeeding. My breasts were so swollen it felt at times as though the skin was stretched to the point of rupturing.

That bit was not particularly fun, admittedly. Although remarkably, I really didn't mind the discomfort. It felt like a means to an end because, even 24 hours after the surgery, I thought my new boobs looked spectacular. A little bit porn star to begin with, which wasn't quite the look I'd been aiming for, but that's settled down now the swelling has completely subsided and the implants have settled.

For anyone who is remotely curious, the details of my surgery are as follows: I had Nagor 330cc high profile silicone implants, placed under the muscle. It has resulted in a C/D cup size - an increase of at least 2 cup sizes. The implants do still feel almost unnaturally firm to the touch, however I am told they will continue to soften and look and feel much more natural in the next 3-6 months. Friends 'in the know' do remark on my new voluptuous physique - but I haven't spotted anyone else doing a double take in the playground, so I can breath a sigh of relief that I am not in Katie Price territory just yet.

The first and only clueless person to remark on the change was Johnny Drama who, at the age of just 6, already has the markings of a breast man. I hadn't said anything to the boys but JD commented almost immediately that, "wow, your boobs look really big today Mama - it's like they're full of milk!" and then he left the room in search of a Beyblade to battle his brother with. He has passed comment a couple of times since, but hasn't yet ventured to ask, "how did that happen, mama?" Thank God. I like to think I have a policy of being honest with my children, but I might have to draw the line at telling them the fact that Mama has had a boob job.

Final two words on the subject? I think Hubba Hubba pretty much sums it up for me.

Yes, pictures! Good for you! Silicone is much nicer than saline. Have a friend who has silicone and I totally thought hers were real.I was playing "spot the fake boobs" recently (An easy pastime in San Diego) with a male friend, and he said "the thing women who bitch about fake tits don't gets is that men just don't care. They just like boobs""

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